


Hey! Where's My Tomato?

by ABeautifulSleeper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chibi, Gen, Theft, tomato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeautifulSleeper/pseuds/ABeautifulSleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chibi Spain has lost his tiny tomato backpack on a visit to England's house. Who is the culprit? Originally posted to my fanfiction account. Rating due to mild language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey! Where's My Tomato?

Hey! Where’s My Tomato?!

            It was a normal day at Arthur Kirkland’s house, rainy and horribly damp no matter where in his home you were. It was also rather drafty, with the wind blowing in through the cracks and chilling any who entered to the bone. With the exception of Arthur himself, of course, because he was used to it by now and had come to accept it rather than take up Alfred on his offer to come by and seal up the cracks. Unfortunately for Antonio, he was not used to this climate at all, as it was much warmer and nicer overall where he lived, and he just happened to be visiting Arthur that day. It wasn’t really that he wanted to be there, it was just that he felt compelled to come along to try to protect Romano from some of Arthur’s other guests *cough cough* Francis *cough cough*. He didn’t trust that French bastard any further than he could throw him, and he hadn’t really worked out lately. But things were just not going very well that day, even without the issue of the poorly insulated house.

            Yes, Antonio had lost his beloved tomato backpack. It was rather small (as he was in his chibi form) and he’d had it for as long as he could remember. It also held all of his belongings for this little trip to England, this dreadful, dank, depressing, puddle of a country. He really regretted leaving it in his room for even a moment, and now it was just gone. He couldn’t find that French wacko, and he was suspicious about what he might have done with his precious tomato. Normally, Antonio was a very laid-back individual, but not where his tomatoes were concerned. That is where he drew the line. No one could mess with his tomato and make it out unscathed. There would be hell to pay when Antonio caught the scumbag who did it, you could be sure.

            But first, he had to figure out who took it. There were five people in the house, not counting himself. There was Arthur, Romano, Francis, Veneziano, and Alfred. He hadn’t let Romano out of his sight for a moment, so it couldn’t possibly be him. Besides, Romano knew better than to screw with him like that. Alfred had been too busy consuming the delicious Spanish cuisine Antonio had managed to produce out of much ransacking of Arthur’s kitchen, and could not have done it. Arthur himself had been outside frolicking in the garden with something he called a “flying mint bunny”, or some other strange creature that only he could see. Antonio thought of this as evidence supporting his case for following Romano wherever he went. He couldn’t very well leave him alone in the company of lunatics, could he? So that left him with only two options. It had to have been either Veneziano or Francis. His money was on Francis. He was just too French. He’d probably do something like this, stealing an innocent tomato from its owner. Where was he? Probably off stewing his tomato, or something else horrifying like that.

            Just then, the door thundered open with a loud bang. A figure cloaked in black entered, shielding himself from the gusty rain. He smelled strongly of vodka, and blood. The room instantly chilled fifteen degrees, and as it did so, the figure’s hood fell down, revealing the head of Ivan. He looked a right mess, having probably jumped out of a plane recently. He shook himself off, and pulled up a chair in front of a stunned Alfred.

            “Hello Alfred. Hello Spain. How are you two? This weather is horrible,” he commented, making himself at home in Arthur’s kitchen. All Alfred and Antonio could do was stare at him blankly, as they’d both had their trains of thought interrupted rather abruptly by his entrance. “Are you planning on eating all that yourself? I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to share some,” he continued, completely unfazed by the awkward silence that had followed him in. Alfred silently handed him what was left of the gazpacho he’d been eating, as he and Antonio continued staring at him with almost identical bewildered expressions on their faces. Slowly Antonio sighed, as he doubted that he’d be able to find that disgusting little Frenchman with his tomato in one piece. Ivan slurped his soup rather loudly, then noting the glum expression on Antonio’s face, asked him “What’s wrong? You usually seem so much lighter, little tomato-lover, but today you seem so heavy-hearted. Has something happened?”

            “You could say that, my friend. My tomato bag has been stolen. It held all of my belongings for this trip, and it was very close to my heart. I don’t know what I will do!” he exclaimed, burying his face in his hands. Ivan patted him rather heavily on the back and said, “If you like, I could help you find your tomato, and punish the thief. I have no respect for such thieves as this. We will find it in no time!” he bellowed, laughing uproariously. Antonio’s face began to lighten just a little, thinking of how well this would go now that he had Ivan on his side. “Okay. But first, you will finish your soup. Then, we search!” Alfred had looked stunned up until this point, when he jumped in with “Yeah! I’ll help too! That way, we’ll be sure to find it! Cause I’m the hero!” This sentence caused Antonio to have an unfortunate flashback to 2001, and a certain song by someone from his country that he’d rather like to forget, and he shuddered.

            Once Ivan was through with his soup, they began the investigation. Ivan found Francis looking very shifty in a closet on the first floor of the house, while Alfred got distracted talking about the finer points of pasta making with Veneziano. When they finally narrowed down their search to just Francis, the three of them convened in a small, dark bathroom in the basement of Arthur’s house. They had Francis sitting in an empty bathtub, with only the one dim light on. Alfred, Antonio, and Ivan were all staring at him intently, and under such pressure, he finally broke.

            “Okay, okay, it was me! I did it! I used your toothbrush to clean my shoes off, Alfred! I’m not sorry, but I am handsome! Please don’t disfigure me!” he blubbered incoherently. The other three looked at each other a moment before Alfred yelled an expletive and went to go scrub his mouth out with some hot sauce.

            “No, you idiot! That’s not what you’re here for!” Antonio yelled at him loudly.

            “Oh? Then, um, why am I here?” he asked in a much calmer tone.

            “You’re here because you stole my damn tomato!” Antonio nearly exploded. “No one steals my tomato and gets away with it, you ass!”

            “Oh, that. I didn’t steal it, I just sent it to the dry cleaners! It was in severe need of a good cleaning, and I didn’t think you’d miss it that much…” Francis stated nonchalantly. Ivan and Antonio looked at each other for a moment, then pounced on Francis. Needless to say, that was the last time France ever did anything nice for anyone without an ulterior motive ever again.


End file.
